Farmers Market

Come up to an intersection
from down below where
the river walk branches out
to the northeast, concrete
stairway, fresh goods above.

The streets and parking lot
are busy with hustlers and
consumers, lovers and
the lonely, but the sound of

the river now flows silent
like the breath of a drowned
child in the current’s grip.

At the southwest entrance/exits
boxes of puppies and kittens
are hocked cheaply, no papers
to fill out or background checks
needed during operating hours.

Inside, the medium coffee that
was purchased is way too hot
to drink and almost impossible
to hold without switching hands
every two or three minutes or so.

A flower lady has bouquets set
up everywhere, Chinese toys
are still sold by a World War II
vet and the coffee is still too hot.

The fruits and vegetables are
carefully stacked, the many
cheeses have many buyers,
the meat is hanging or splayed
and the coffee can now be sipped.

Back outside the puppies bark,
the kittens meow, the streets and
parking lot is starting to die down
as the concrete directs to the river
and the coffee can now be enjoyed.